


Fool me once, kiss you twice.

by lm_xzy



Category: Heaven Official's Blessing, 天官赐福 - 墨香铜臭 | Tiān Guān Cì Fú - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: Brothels, Canonverse-ish, Crossdressing, Feng Xin is bored, M/M, Mention of blood, Mu Qing is gorgeous, Non-Explicit, Pei Ming's advice, Plotless murder mystery, and mild gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-27 03:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30116391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lm_xzy/pseuds/lm_xzy
Summary: Feng Xin has been bored out of his mind, already bothered Ling Wen to her limits and now ill-favorably ends up listening to Pei Ming's advice... In the mortal realm where the land lacks a name, Feng Xin walks in under a heavy arched door, not expecting to meet the most illuminating beauty he has ever laid eyes on.___(alternatively: let Feng Xin be the damsel in distress, except it's actually the damsel that saves Feng Xin)
Relationships: Fēng Xìn/Mù Qíng
Comments: 5
Kudos: 74





	Fool me once, kiss you twice.

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone says what if it was Mu Qing that caught little Hua Cheng, now I say, what if it was Mu Qing that Feng Xin met in that brothel. (joke, this is a joke—or is it?)
> 
> We don't do presents in my family but still I decided to write myself a 'little' FengQing gift for my own birthday. Actually ended up loving this more than expected, so I wanted to share that indulgence with others too. Please let me know what you think?♡
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/l_wanyue)
> 
> . . . 

To be frank, Feng Xin had no fair reason for his current course of journeying other than utter boredom clogging his better judgement of mind. Drifting through unfamiliar nameless corners of the mortal realm—yes, such lands exist, even for a god like Feng Xin. 

He had heard Pei Ming would come here when Ling Wen wasn’t ordering him around; said it helped him to blank out his mind. Obviously, taking to heart any advice from Pei Ming is never a commended deed, everyone knows that—everyone in their right mind _should_ know that. In the end, given said circumstance, perhaps Feng Xin should have been more wise to realize the nature of the locale he just walked in.

Outside the midday sun is high and windy, but the aged lumber that constructs the tavern’s inside lays down like a thick heavy smoke. The stale air hits like a suffocating slap in the face. A sickly-sweet stench brewed with liquor and natural bodily juice—it’s the smell of a small but overcrowded space. 

Instinctively Feng Xin covers his nose but his legs still continue further inside toward the counter. Even for a tall man like Feng Xin, it reaches him halfway up his chest. By thoughtless mistake, he lays his hands on the surface—it’s sticky. He hastily pulls them back with an offensive grunt. 

Still, he asks for water but gets an arrack punch—the sugary bitterness sticks to his tongue like glue and he has to fight the innate reflexes to spit it all out. He can feel it burning his throat as it slowly trickles down.

Not to seem too rude—and because his boredom has not yet been cured—Feng Xin takes the nasty drink along when making way over to one of the empty cubicles. Considering the outskirt location, the place is considerably packed. Most of the guests appear to be common travelers and drunken nearby citizens; humans nonetheless. 

Forgetting the foulness of the drink in his hand, Feng Xin almost chokes on the following blundered gulp—but this time not in disgust. His eyes shoot wide open when he realizes: this is no typical tavern.

Among the presumed ordinary guests, Feng Xin spots not only one but many wandering hands, finding more exposed skin than expectedly appropriate around tables of plates and drinks. The loud volume in here is not solely the sound of clinking glasses and scraping silverware between mouthfuls of loud conversations—but many of the mouths are entangled in another’s, moaning seductive verses in each other’s ears. 

This is a _brothel,_ Feng Xin belatedly understands.

”Oh my, what a handsome man.” The coquettish voice precedes the supple tush seating down in Feng Xin’s lap; unabashed fingers coil into his hair without warning. ”What should we do to wipe off that mournful smile, sweetheart? Did you come here because you are lonely? Well, you have come to the right place. Let this auntie take good care of you.”

Feng Xin forgets to breathe, paralyzed in his seat—still suffering from the late realization, now added an intimate female presence. The bare cleavage too close, her buttocks squishing on his thighs. Suffocating, in the way it all is so unforeseen and strange. 

”It’s okay to touch.” The lady guides Feng Xin’s hand to cover her breast—it’s a texture of plump and firm, the large curve perfectly fitting under his fingers. Feng Xin pulls back his hand in horror. ”Oh, do we have an innocent unsullied here?”

The auntie doesn’t seem too hurt by Feng Xin’s opposing action, instead a certain compassion appears to her powdered face, charmed by his virtue. Virginity is not entirely unheard of here, but it is nevertheless rare. 

”S-sorry.” Feng Xin finally manages to articulate a feeble apology—it is a lady after all that he is speaking to. 

”Then tell me young man, do you see anyone here that you particularly like? You can pick anyone you want. It’s your first time after all.” The exaggerated dalliance to her voice has diminished, now merely the natural melody of a lady speaking to a handsome man. 

Feng Xin should apologize and leave, hurry away and forget he ever was here—but his eyes fall on a sudden glimt in the dusky light. 

This light is a woman—a tall sculptured figure peeks through the pearl-white translucent gown she is wearing. Her walk is floating like the billowing white hair carefully braided with jewels. She looks like an angel misplaced in this unforgiven cluttered state. 

”Her.” Feng Xin breathes before coming to his senses; he did not mean to speak it out loud. 

”Dear, you’ve got that expensive taste.” The auntie awes mischievously, and the flash of mistrust in her hesitant poise goes unnoticed to Feng Xin. “Wait here.”

The lady in his lap finally leaves without another word, pretentiously flouncing her backside as she strides over to the woman Feng Xin had incidentally laid his eyes on. Whispering something into her ear, the luminous woman shoots a glance over her shoulder in Feng Xin’s direction. 

There is not much to be seen because her face is covered with a faint veil, but it only makes Feng Xin more intrigued. He blushes at the brief contact—or maybe, as Feng Xin attempts to convince himself, it’s only the taste of the punch heating his blood. 

Feng Xin bows his head down in distracted embarrassment, eyes glued on the remaining liquor he really doesn't feel like drinking anymore. He should leave, he again argues to himself, take this opportunity to escape before it’s too late. But Feng Xin’s legs won’t move.

Lost in his own confronting mind, the sound of a glass being placed on the wooden table makes him jolt in surprise. 

”Here. Don’t drink that poison.” The woman dressed in sheer pale is standing beside him—it’s the woman Feng Xin had pointed out—a glass of real water this time. Her voice is as tranquil as her fair appearance. ”You come here often?”

For a brief moment Feng Xin thinks her voice is too chiding for someone in her position, but his words get stuck in his throat when he looks up to speak. 

Up close, two round eyes glimpse through the thin fabric, and looking from below, Feng Xin can see her scarlet-red lips protrude under that veil. It’s only faint features, but Feng Xin already thinks she is beautiful.

”First time.” Feng Xin reveals earnestly; blinking a few times to see if the captivating view disappears like a dream—she is still there. 

“Mhm.” The woman hums without a meaning to it. 

Clogged mind, stupid brain, whatever—Feng Xin speaks again. ”But shouldn’t you know since you work here?”

The beautiful woman hesitates to speak—the hurt of those words going ignored to Feng Xin. However she doesn’t get to reprimand him before the auntie from earlier is back with them.

"Bai Xue, where are your manners? What are you standing here for when this young man is lonely in his seat?" The auntie's voice comes short of being favorable like it had been when she was talking to Feng Xin just moments ago. 

The lady takes the telling lead to guide Bai Xue down in Feng Xin's lap before leaving with a watchful look in her eyes. 

“Sorry.” Feng Xin apologizes in earnest, his hands left awkwardly to his sides. He’s about to clarify his excuse when two delicate arms loop around his neck.

“I apologize for the delayed welcome. I am Bai Xue, you asked for me.” She speaks slowly. Although her position, her speech is more refined than one would be inclined to expect—undeniably fitting to her tactful grace. 

Feng Xin thinks the name suits her—pristine, frail, but unpredictable under that sheer covering which makes even Feng Xin curious for more. Compared to before, he doesn’t feel as suffocated anymore. Her scent is more mellow and her breath cool on his skin. 

“Nan Feng. I am Nan Feng.” Though uncommonly coming here in his original form, Feng Xin consciously reasons it is safely recommended to conceal at least a bit of his true self. 

“You come from the south?” The question bears no weight except a tryingly alluring tone. 

Her fingers tangle in his hair like the other lady had before, but Bai Xue’s fingers are more tamed, gentle, less provocative—Feng Xin silently hums in heeded complacency. 

“Mhh.” He reveals that much again. 

The veil withholds the most, but through it pierces a swarthy gaze that seems to follow circles across Feng Xin’s face. He feels calmer than he should be, captivated by her arcane presence. 

“I see the sun has kissed you well. Ubiquitous dots from here”—She traces a cautious finger along the freckles on his pudgy rosen cheeks.—“to here. And it makes me wonder”—Her finger moves down to Feng Xin’s quietly fluttering lips.—“if you have ever been truly _kissed.”_

Feng Xin feels his ears flush hot, stumbling over his own words at the blunt assertion. “W-why would you say that.”

“Oh.” Bai Xue’s tone revels in surprise, underneath the faint veil her lips gingerly curve up. “So it is true, you have never been kissed.”

“No. No! Whatever that lady said, it is all lies.” Feng Xin blurts out more nonsense in his bashful haze—he didn’t even say much to the auntie; what does he have to hide now? 

But Bai Xue simply responds with a light puff of laughter—it tickles against Feng Xin’s warm skin, not helping his blush the least. “She didn’t have to say a thing. Your face says it all.” 

In the midst of this misleading confessional, Feng Xin’s large hands have found their way up on her slender waist, and now leaving him two times petrified at his own clouded actions. As if Bai Xue can read Feng Xin’s mind she lays a comforting hand over his as she continues to speak.

“It’s okay.” She reassures—the one on his hand barely gently resting, the other hand still in his hair slowly massaging his scalp. 

Feng Xin eases, albeit apprehensively, though somewhat curiously. Her waist is fleshier than her petite figure makes it to believe, her slanted position accentuating the curve above her hips. Molded like to fit a hand like Feng Xin’s.

“You are beautiful.” The thick confined air filled with aromatics of perfume and liquor has fogged Feng Xin mind, letting him speak more honestly than he normally would resolve. 

Bai Xue freezes unexpectedly, however too short of a moment for Feng Xin to conceive anything astray.

“Young man is not so bad himself.” She bestows an ambiguous compliment, merely not to let Feng Xin feel any lesser. 

Bai Xue is more careful in her seduction than many of the other women in this establishment, but for a novice like Feng Xin, it’s plenty to make the heart race. 

“May I see your face?” Feng Xin inquires incautiously. However Bai Xue’s expression is telling that he is stepping into forbidden territory. “You don’t have to. I still like you as you are.” Feng Xin reassures quickly after realizing his bluntness. 

“Nan Feng is generous.” Bai Xue’s words are neither accepting nor dissenting, and Feng Xin leaves the secrecy be.

“You have a dainty waist.” He tells instead. 

The pearl-white robe is thin and neither the underneath textile is leaving much to wonder. Tenatatively, Feng Xin grazes the crescent of her waist that continues to her bended back—Feng Xin thinks it equally strong as slender, his large hands nearly but not quite fitting around the dip of the spine. 

Bai Xue allows the examining hands, daringly pushing into the shy touch. 

The sonority ringing inside the tavern gets lost to the novel exploration between the two; clanging of glasses and the charlatan laughs are but a distant buzz. Only two nervous breaths resonating offbeat. 

“I feel… something poking.” Bai Xue whispers breathedly after a while, breaking the momentary silence in their world. 

In a dash Feng Xin returns to reality, leaping up in fright. And wouldn’t it be for the adjoining table, Bai Xue would have been thrown on the floor, but she is pushed against the edge, resulting in the undrunken glass to fall and shatter.

“I-I… I’m sorry.” Feng Xin supports Bai Xue with an arm's length, afraid to get closer but unable to retreat farther. 

The commotion has turned plenty of faces, the auntie’s glare blaring the strongest from the crowd. Bai Xue clears her throat, composedly wiping the little stain on her robes. 

“Nan Feng.” Bai Xue commences slowly, taking a confident stride forward, to underlie what she is about to say. “You still have… a _situation_ going on.” 

The split in Feng Xin’s casualwear robes have come undone in his panicked movements, and now exposing the tightened tent under the mild fabric of his pants. 

“I can help.” Bai Xue guaredly suggests—Feng Xin missing the possible restraint in her words. “If Nan Feng wishes, I have a room upstairs.”

Her incentive stops at that and Feng Xin wordlessly follows the hand that pulls him away. The rest of the guests and women have already returned to their respective business, only the auntie watching them as they retreat. 

The crooked old stairs creak under their feet, Bai Xue’s pale robes a stark contrast against the dark wooden boards. Watching his own steps as they climb up, Feng Xin can’t help but witness the dancing hem, swinging from side to side in pace with her perky bum. 

Passing six or seven doors at this floor, they finally come to the one at the end of the hall. Bai Xue hesitates a second before leading Feng Xin inside the hefty door. 

Feng Xin has only just stepped inside the modest chambers when Bai Xue slams him against the shutting door, closing it with a loud bang. Her loss of composure as much as the uncalled blow against the door makes Feng Xin gasp for air. 

“I can’t— I can’t do this anymore!” She bursts. 

Feng Xin’s heart is racing faster than it has all day. Through the sudden shock buzzing between his ears, he tries to understand what is going on. Was Bai Xue really this offended by his earlier carnal reaction? Did she not want this? But she was the one to suggest coming up?

“Agh. _Idiot._ You’re such an idiot, Feng Xin. What are you doing here? Why are you doing this?” Bai Xue rambles in a frenzy, pacing around without direction, stopping only for half a second whenever passing Feng Xin. 

“Calm down. I don’t understand what you are saying. I apolog—” Feng Xin stops for a hold up breath; puzzled to find the voice so familiar all of a sudden? “Feng… You said _Feng Xin?_ How do y—”

“Gods, you are stupid.” Bai Xue interrupts, emphasizing each letter in that word. “Change your appearance also if you are going to use a disguised name! Everyone can see it is you.” 

The thin fabric storms around in a howling whirlwind as Bai Xue hastens her pace, the words coming out of that mouth with the force of a likewise hurricane. It looks like a blizzard of snow although outside the summer is hot. 

“M-mu Qing?” Feng Xin’s knees nearly give in under the shock, stumbling forward to lean a hand against the nearets chest of drawers.

In his growing madness finally releasing, Mu Qing is left oblivious to the other’s horrid confusion, mumbling incomprehensible nonsense to himself. 

“Mu Qing?” Feng Xin repeats a little clearer. 

Finally Mu Qing stops, sneering with irritation. _“ What! ”_

“Hah. Fuck. It really is you. What— No, why… you—” But Feng Xin doesn’t find the words to finish whatever his emotions are trying to say. Anger? Disappointment? Humiliation? He needs to leave.

Mu Qing throws himself in the way, blocking the door before Feng Xin can reach it, skillfully dodging the incoming fist. It leaves a noticeable hollow into the chunky wood. 

“You can’t leave.” Mu Qing asserts almost panickledy again—not panicked due to the force of that fist, but at the idea of Feng Xin storming out like this.

“What, you actually want to sleep with me?” Feng Xin spits out without thinking, still attempting to fight the door open. 

“No! What— No. I am here on Ling Wen’s orders.” Mu Qing’s face blossoms rubescent but his words have calmed down to a graver tone. “If you walk out right now, mad as you are, the auntie will think something is amiss. And if I am fired, or worse, discovered, this whole mission has been for naught.”

Feng Xin had already halted at the name of Ling Wen, a few stray pieces falling together. Indeed a while ago, she had mentioned that Mu Qing will be outstationed on an assignment for the time being—and though Feng Xin will never admit to it, his prior boredom may have in fact started since that day. 

“You are here on an assignment?” Feng Xin is still distracted by this bizarre situation—Mu Qing on a mission is one thing, but Mu Qing posing as a prostitute… 

“Young men have been found head chopped off and everything points to the culprit basing its operation from this brothel.” Mu Qing reports thoroughly but it all comes soundless to Feng Xin who is hung up elsewhere. “I have been mapping the occurrences for weeks, always a step behind, but finally it led me to this establishment—”

“You are here on an assignment.” Feng Xin interrupts, dumbfoundedly repeating himself. 

It’s like they are speaking on different wavelengths, existing in different universes. 

Mu Qing gapes in stupor at his fellow general, disbelief weighing his entire presence, eyes rolling more violent than ever. What's the point in even trying to get though to such a thick-skulled person?

“Did you listen to a single word I just said?”

“Ling Wen sent you here.” Feng Xin nods knowingly—stupidly. 

“And?” Mu Qing cannot help but chuckle helplessly. “The headless men? This brothel being a possible murder den? Nothing?”

Feng Xin did hear… some of that, half-consciously, mind hung up on only a few bits and pieces. “So you search for leads by opening your legs to horny men?” 

The incoming fist is for once faster than Feng Xin’s now stumped mind. As intended, it is enough to shake him awake. 

“What the fuck?” Feng Xin yelps, protecting his throbbing cheek. He can already feel it swelling, the heat pumping against this palm.

“That’s my line.” Mu Qing scoffs remorselessly, madness scorching up in his voice. “What’s it to you if I spread my legs or not? For some women this is their only chance at survival. These are respectable women working here and I’m not going to hear you discredit them!” 

“But, one of them, possibly even more of them, has a hobby of chopping off men's heads? That’s okay with you?” Finally Feng Xin’s brain decides to function again. 

He has never really known to back down—almost taking joy in being annoyingly persistent—however right he might be, sometimes it would just be better to shut up. But it is Mu Qing who has to concede, exaggeratedly sighing as his eyes roll to the back of his head in slow-motion.

“Whatever.” Mu Qing walks defeatedly to the wide bed placed in the middle of the room. A sudden tiredness washing over him; he sighs a few added exhales. “No. I don’t spread my legs, nor am I planning to do so—unlike _someone else_.”

  
  


Either Feng Xin doesn’t understand the insinuation, or he adamantly decides to ignore it—anyways, finding other more important matters at hand. 

“What if someone forces themself on you?”

A stale laugh escapes Mu Qing’s lips. “I’m a martial god.”—This to say he is not to be underestimated. 

“You look quite frail in that sheer gown.” Feng Xin argues in discredit. 

Mu Qing is still dressed in the blanched attire from before; carefully covering yet revealing enough to make one crave more. 

In this new light shining in through the window, overlooking the gravel street, Feng Xin gets to witness the corset assemblage tied under that translucent robe—there’s more skin to it than cloth, a maze of straps to hold everything elegantly tucked in. 

“Shut up.” A chastened blush comes out with Mu Qing’s irritated words—but Feng Xin doesn’t hear, already too used to that tone from before. 

Starting to clear out from the smog air and unfolding of events, Feng Xin comes around to truly take a look at his comrade, seeing him in an unlike picture. 

Feng Xin’s legs take him over to the bedside where Mu Qing is sitting, hand moving as much on its own to bare the face under that veil. Feng Xin gasps soundly—irrefutably a breath of pleased appraisal—and for an unforeseen change, Mu Qing doesn’t retaliate, only bashfully turning his cheek. 

“You are… makeup.” The sentence is left incomplete as Feng Xin astonishes over the finally undressed face.

Mu Qing’s face is even paler than before, a shade framing his obsidian eyes, bright color applied to his lips. Feng Xin has never realized how full those lips are, now carefully painted to highlight the plump arch and plenty volume. 

Absentmindedly Feng Xin’s finger reaches out again, wondering if they feel as delicate as it looks. But before getting an answer to his unbridled question, the hand is frustratedly slapped away, finally awakening Feng Xin from his wanton illusion. 

“Huh. So you really came here for the flesh.” Mu Qing assumes in aversion, shuffling farther away from the other’s grasp.

It takes a minute for Feng Xin to understand what Mu Qing is implying. Quite horridly realizing his own strange manners. Why did he come here in the first place? Why did he follow a woman—Mu Qing—up to a room of privacy?

Feng Xin has nothing to excuse and he for once accepts it, dropping down on the opposite side with an emphasizing sigh. It has been a long day—full of twists and turns—and also Feng Xin feels a little drained. 

“Never listen to Pei Ming.” Feng Xin tells as much to himself as the other. 

Mu Qing laughs through his nose, not quite fathoming how utterly idiotic the other really is, finding it pointless to elaborate on something so evident. 

“For that mistake you are sleeping on the floor tonight.”

“I am sleeping _here?”_

“Like I said, I can’t have the auntie suspect something is off.” Mu Qing gives his best to sound as casual as possible, but even with his back turned away, the faint blush manages to sip through his tone. “And you started this.”

“Had I known it was you I…” —For some strange reason Feng Xin is finding it repeatedly difficult to finish his sentences today. 

Silencing himself, Feng Xin lays down on the other side of the bed, arms casually resting behind his head. The felt movement of the bedding makes Mu Qing turn his head. 

“ _Hey._ I said the floor!” 

“It’s big enough for two.” Feng Xin indifferently prompts; and it's not exactly untrue either. “And what would the auntie think if she finds one of her girls making a customer sleep on the floor.”

However undesirable the situation, Mu Qing can’t argue with that last part; slowly creeping down under the covers, deliberately taking up enough space to show he is not the one to back down.

“You’re paying double.” Mu Qing scowls, though barely more than a rough whisper. 

The two fall into a strained silence, the clamor of the downstairs relocating to the upper rooms as the evening advances. Mu Qing wrapping himself under the covers; Feng Xin not bothering to move beneath instead staying atop, legs crossed, arms tied behind his nape. Enough space between the two that they won’t even accidently touch. 

At first, it seems this will be a long sleepless night. And it’s not like martial gods actually need much sleep, but in events like this the humane need for rest offers a valuable pass for escape. 

But Feng Xin must have fallen asleep at some point, because when the first rays of the morning sun seeps in, the space on his side is cold and empty and Mu Qing is nowhere to be seen. 

* *

A few days later Feng Xin is strolling the streets of the Heavenly Capital, once again aimlessly squandering without a thing to do. 

He had left the brothel without a second look back, but not before paying—double as promised; one part for the auntie, the other under Mu Qing's pillow. Although he didn't give that brothel a second look, he hasn't quite gotten it out of his mind

Back in the Capital, Ling Wen has recently ordered a few guards to keep Feng Xin away, exhausted by his constant bothering that’s been going on from the crack of dawn until long after the dusk has already passed, somehow even increasing in the fast few days. 

She is wise enough to recognize it’s not solely boredom that brings him to her, and likewise her self-respect silences her from prying for more. Though something tells her she might already know the cause—but that something is nothing Feng Xin is ready to acknowledge.

“Why so sullen?” Pei Ming’s rumbling speech echoes between the stonewalls. 

Truth to be told, Feng Xin had seen him coming already faraway, even watched the wave of a hand. But just as then as now, Feng Xin remains impassive toward the pompous general.

“Hm.” Is the only acknowledgement he allows. 

“Did you see her?” Pei Ming converses indicatively, hiding a twinkle in his eyes. 

The question flashes a particular memory in Feng Xin's mind and against better judgement he yields to Pei Ming’s inquiry. Though call it precaution more than curiosity. 

“Who?” 

“I hear they call her the _‘snow princess’_.” Pei Ming doesn’t fail to notice the fleeting change in Feng Xin’s expression and deliberately continues the recollection. “Mesmerizing, but cold, impossible to approach, they say. I heard she’s popular, but doesn’t let to be touched.”

Feng Xin refuses to lower his head to hide the inching blush that threatens to rise from that account—it must be the summer heat. Still, he refuses to fall into Pei Ming’s provocation, his own outrageous thoughts.

“You knew all along, didn’t you?” Feng Xin pointlessly asks because Pei Ming’s laughter already says it all. “So how did you know I was there?”

“I have my ways.” Thankfully Pei Ming doesn’t elaborate more, but that's only for the fact that the situation allows him much better ways to get under Feng Xin’s skin. “Gorgeous, isn’t he?”

The name doesn’t have to be spoken, and honestly Feng Xin prefers it like that—unwanted images already developing in his mind. 

“Shut up.”

“Don’t worry. I like mine a little less… plain. More fleshed.” Pei Ming suggests shamelessly.

“Mu Qing isn’t plain!” Feng Xin spits out in irritated defense, his furrowed brows deep enough to make a little canyon on his forehead. 

“Oh sorry. I didn’t mean any disgrace by my words.” Pei Ming retreats, theatrically showing his peaceful stance by raising his hands—great target practice, Feng Xin infers, wanting to punch off that taunting grin. But Pei Ming beams only brighter. “We all have our preferences. I’m proud of you, standing up like that.” 

Feng Xin spits a row of incomprehensible blasphemies before he starts to make any kind of sense again—though Pei Ming is rather used to it, for having not only one, but _two_ , bigmouths around him. 

“You better tell your little spies to stop lying.” Feng Xin gruffs. 

For a change Pei Ming shuts up at that, which only seems to aggravate Feng Xin more who turns around in rage, leaving behind a cloud of dust. Not much later, the entire capital awakes to the sound ring of banging palace doors.

* *

Mu Qing cannot deny the terrifying surprise of meeting Feng Xin in a place like this of all. Of course, Mu Qing is only here on an assigned mission, but Feng Xin, he came to a brothel on his own accord. And a man only comes here for _one_ reason. 

“Oh Bai Xue, dear. Did the young man leave you heartbroken?” The auntie approaches Mu Qing with a pretense smile on her face.

“Sorry, auntie.” Mu Qing shakes his head, as that would help him get rid of his thoughts, yet perfectly enacting the sweet repentance of Bai Xue. “I was lost in other thoughts.”

The auntie doesn’t seem too convinced, humming discontentedly. “Well, you better pull your chin up. I am already giving you enough privileges not having to tend to our customers, but they’re growing increasingly complaining to see you walk around like an empty corpse.”

Mu Qing bites down the urge to throw fists and spit words, instead peacefully apologizing. “Sorry, auntie. I will do better.”

It has already been a few months since Mu Qing was sent on this mission. But he did not start off at this brothel, not at all, but after retracing the steps of murdered men, feeling like always being one step behind, Mu Qing had finally wind up at this establishment—it somehow mapped in the center of all occurrences. 

The first time he had walked in not knowing what to expect, and it had taken him only a few cautious strides inside the arched door before he hastily turned away. 

He had no intention to return—but Ling Wen had already carved out an impeccable plan. And thus a very heated and lengthy discussion followed. 

Mu Qing disagreed, refused, swore never to return to the heavens or complete another mission, if this was the plan. But he couldn't deny the fact that a murderer was running loose and he was nowhere near to catch it, not even to identify it. 

So the plan was: _undercover._ Since that was measured as the surest way to get employed here—to figure out the culprit—Mu Qing had no other choice than to dress up as a woman. Now giving his current situation.

Thankfully, after yet another lengthy negotiation—and an unnecessary many gold pieces—Mu Qing had managed to settle this agreement with the auntie. 

One night, that was all he had asked for to prove himself, that he could attract customers as a mere hostess without taking part in the other services. 

And one night had been enough. Customers old and new were all intrigued by Mu Qing’s—Bai Xue’s—spell-like charm. Like a forbidden fruit, everyone wanted to taste but no one was allowed to touch. 

Since then, a few weeks have now passed, and Mu Qing is finding it unexpectedly alright here. Most of the women around him are good-hearted honest citizens; the men on the other hand… Mu Qing wishes he could help these women in some way, but for now, the mission comes first.

The owner of the brothel, the auntie and her husband, a bulky man who is the head chef also, have already been precluded from the list of suspects. A horrible personality isn’t enough to make a murderer. Their daughter, however, is more dubious. 

“Bai Xue.” Said daughter only works the bardisk—being of age, but benefiting from the benevolence of a caring mother—calls Mu Qing over with an innocent smile. “Your suitor is awaiting you. I sent him up to your chambers.”

“I don’t take customers to my chambers, remember.” Mu Qing swallows the apprehension, perfectly faking a sweet tact instead. 

“I know.” She sounds almost apologetic. “But mother told me this young man is an exception.” 

The brothel auntie had been watchful, but in the end overjoyed, when Bai Xue had for the first time taken a man into her chambers, believing Bai Xue would start to loosen her inhibitions, becoming part of the attending services. She had already seen the money coming in. But the following day, Bai Xue had returned to her usual character of keeping an untouchable distance. 

“The golden boy, with copper hair.” The daughter adds, to remind Mu Qing who she is referring to. 

And Mu Qing needed that reminder, because never would he have thought that Feng Xin would return.

“Ah, him. Thank you. I will take my leave then.” Damn you, Feng Xin, Mu Qing curses inwardly, outwardly faking an excusing smile. 

Mu Qing preserves the gracefully flowing stride of Bai Xue as he makes way for his chambers, his tranquil movements contrasting the raging tumult in his mind. Damn you, Feng Xin, Mu Qing repeats all the way up—what are you back for? 

“What the hell brings you here?” Mu Qing hizzes the second the heavy door behind him closes. “Huh? Didn’t get what you wanted last time? Want me to recommend you a nice woman, that’s it?”

Feng Xin—who’s been patiently waiting, legs crossed up on the bed—is left quietly stupefied at the clearly unwelcoming arrival. The situation almost turning comical. 

Mu Qing is still—again—dressed in incandescent translucent fabric, a light veil covering his angered face. Feng Xin doesn’t hide his scanning gaze; an amused chuckle escapes his lips. 

“What’s so funny? It’s not the first time you’re seeing me like this.” Mu Qing’s graceful appearance doesn’t match the annoyed tone spitting out of his mouth.

“It suits you.” Feng Xin cannot help but reveal in all honesty. 

“Fuck you.” —A profanity, if any at all, rarely heard from Mu Qing. “Get to the point. What are you doing here?”

“I tried to contact your communication array but you didn’t answer.” Feng Xin bridles himself and explains truthfully—at least it’s half of the truth, an acceptable excuse. 

“Huh. So last time you walked in here not knowing you’re left outside the communication array? Not even for a brief moment did you think that perhaps it's something to check in a foreign domain? Idiot, you are really such an idiot.” Oddly contradicting his lecturing tone, Mu Qing is nearly laughing, although any amusement stripped from the sound. 

“You’re doing a covert mission without any means to contact Ling Wen, or anyone else for that matter. Who’s the idiot?”

“It’s not ideal, but Ling Wen knows I’m here.” Mu Qing eventually agrees, and quietly adds; “And now you know, too.”

Feng Xin is silent for a few moments, evidently deep in thought, brows furrowed in concern rather than agitation. But as his expression relaxes, Feng Xin swallows whatever just went through his mind. 

"Any new leads?" He instead wonders, the curiosity a little lacking in sincerity. 

"Mhh." Mu Qing answers vaguely. "But that doesn't concern you."

"What, am I not allowed to ask?"

"You came all the way here to hear how my assignment is going?" Mu Qing scoffs in disbelief—Feng Xin has never cared about Mu Qing's faring before; what would possibly give him any plausible reason to change his concern now… 

"That's right." Feng Xin bluntly prompts. 

"Whatever." Mu Qing yields. Bickering won't change the situation anyway; he decides to avert the conversation. "Had dinner yet?"

"No." Feng Xin answers unneededly sharp, still hung upon his previous forged determination. 

However Mu Qing ignores the tone, having to restrain himself to the limits of his role whenever he is under the roof of this establishment. Flying fists and loud words doesn’t suit the pure and reserved Bai Xue.

"Make yourself at home. I'll find us something." Mu Qing instructs as his back disappears outside the door again, a white cloud ballooning behind him, as much fabric as his silver-white hair. 

They share a decent meal together in the quiet peace of the chamber. Despite the nature of here and the character of its usual guests, the brothel serves some commendable cuisine, and Feng Xin finds no reason to complain—nor worry. 

Like last time, the two sleep on opposite sides of the bed—Mu Qing cuddling into the warmth of the covers, Feng Xin lying unnaturally still atop the sheets on his side. And when dawn breaks, Mu Qing is nowhere to be seen. 

* *

To Mu Qing's dismay—and unsolicited comfort, which he never will admit—Feng Xin returns back more frequently after that. 

He starts bringing flowers and sweets— _'Because that's what a suitor would do'_ , Feng Xin explains matter-of-factly when Mu Qing starts to complain; _‘It’s all for your cover’_ , Feng Xin continues. But for other purposes—why in reality Feng Xin keeps coming back—his reasons are running thin and hollow. 

—Exhibit A:

“What now?” Mu Qing groans. 

“Ling Wen sent me to check up on you.”—Which both very well know is a lie. 

—Exhibit B:

“Ling Wen?” Mu Qing taunts knowingly.

“I was in the neighborhood.” Feng Xin opposes, making up yet another weak lie. 

—Exhibit C:

“Are you bothering Rain Master Huang now too?” Mu Qing looks at the bouquet of blue bellflowers forced into his hands. 

“Are you going to let me in or not?” Feng Xin counters with a question of his own.

And the excuses go on, so on and so forth… Weaker by the day until Mu Qing stops asking why, quietly accepting Feng Xin’s persistent visits. 

Ling Wen was actually part of it all, but not in the sense as indicated.

She had finally come around to approach Feng Xin with an assignment—but he had bluntly declined without an explanation. The wittingly entertained smile on Pei Ming’s lips, on the other hand, told her she doesn’t want to know more and so she left it at that. 

Between the walls of Mu Qing’s chambers at the brothel, the two generals talk about the mission, about their common friend the Crown Prince, Feng Xin updates about the matters of the court and other recent gossip. And sometimes—most often—they simply… share the time together. 

In the passing of one full moon, Feng Xin's visits have come almost regular, the brothel auntie learning which days of the week to put on an extra layer of rogue and order her husband for the better kind of steaks. Being a heavenly official and all—albeit no one here aware of that little detail—Feng Xin pays graciously, better than their common mortal customers. 

"Sit down, have a drink." The auntie has become more lenient with Bai Xue's arrangement since the appearance of Feng Xin, however her cordiality is still a mere pretense. "You were doing your errands, so I told my daughter to keep your lover company for awhile."

Mu Qing nearly chokes on the sweet liquid coating his throat. To compensate for not serving the customers, Mu Qing is left to do some cleaning and laundry, only now being done with the chores for the day—but that's not his fault, it's Feng Xin that is early. 

“Oh, dear. I didn't mean it like that.” The auntie misinterprets Bai Xue’s scare. “They only took a walk and should be back shortly.”

But that doesn’t help to ease Mu Qing’s mind at all. 

He has not yet shared his suspicions about the daughter, wanting to hear the conclusions from an outsider's neutral perspective first. But Feng Xin hasn't voiced any concern about the daughter, now defenselessly left with the belief of a sweet young girl. 

Mu Qing barely manages to keep his cool. "W-where did they go?" 

"Only down to the stream and back. Sit and relax." The auntie answers without a worry on her mind, still misinterpreting Bai Xue’s hurry. 

A short way down the road extends a beautiful field to the side, and at the far end runs a lively stream, dividing the open grassland from the neighboring wild forest. The surrounding area is rather unpopulous, although frequently traveled—a good place to hunt and hide. 

Mu Qing doesn't care for excuses and apologies, instantly making a run for the rusty gate facing the street. 

It should be too early, it is still only daylight, Mu Qing reasons in an attempt to calm himself. And what more he has gathered, the culprit merely bases its actions from the brothel, not actually luring the victims directly from here. 

But Mu Qing cannot help but feel a heavy weight settle in his throat as his legs take him down the gravel street. Perhaps it's silly to set out in such a haphazard run—dodging the traveling humans, crossing the open field, wading through the purling stream, into the musky forest. It's much cooler in here than out under the midday sun. 

Perhaps Mu Qing will return a while later to find Feng Xin waiting in his chamber like before—having to hide his idiotic scare, make up some quick excuse. What reason does Mu Qing even have to care, to act like this? 

But something in Mu Qing's guts is prompting him to run faster. 

It doesn’t take long before Mu Qing senses the smell of blood—and something he quite can't put a finger on—but his eyes still can’t catch sight of anything. 

An agonizing cry breaks through the watercolored sky. It is not the cry itself, but the following silence, that makes Mu Qing stumble over his own feet, clutching at his chest like an ice spear just pierced his bones. 

Mu Qing runs for what feels like forever—running through forests and meadows, over hills and across streams. How long since did they gone out before Mu Qing returned from his errands? How long has Feng Xin been out with a likely murderer? Has he figured it out before it’s too late?

Mu Qing knows he should have put an end to Feng Xin’s visits the first time he returned. But in the undeniable freedom that Feng Xin’s visits brought with, Mu Qing has nearly forgotten about the case and its particular traits—Feng Xin fits the perfect target. 

He finally appears on the edge of a field, not far away another road, and across that yet more fields. There, on the other side of the road, a few travelers have stopped to inspect something in the grass. 

Mu Qing doesn’t have to see to understand, and for a second he forgets to move his legs. 

The humans standing around speak a language Mu Qing cannot understand but the concern and fear on their faces all say the same. They barely make it out of the way in time as Mu Qing comes dashing through. 

By their feet, is Feng Xin—covered in fleshed cuts and gushes of blood. He's still breathing, albeit painstakingly staggering. 

Without delay, Mu Qing starts to attend to him. He rips pieces from the hem of his fair robes, bystanders offering some of their better cloth. But Feng Xin still has enough strength left in him, and to Mu Qing's anger, uses it to fend him off. 

“Shh, shut up for once will you.” Mu Qing’s tone comes short of actually being mad. “Curse at me later, hit me later, but be still for now.”

"... fine…. demon… other …" Feng Xin gurgles laboredly, lips still achieving to curve into a dreadful crescent twist. 

The choked speech is incomprehensible and Mu Qing can only make out of a few words bubbling out of Feng Xin's mouth. His eyes follow the trembling finger pointing to the eastward forest, telling enough what Feng Xin is trying to say. 

But Mu Qing hesitates, already about to make the decision to stay, when Feng Xin muddles up a last slapping blow, square in the face—this is telling Mu Qing not to be dumb, to stop this nonsense and go after them instead. 

“Idiot. How many times do I have to say you are such an idiot.” Mu Qing speaks more to himself than Feng Xin, and doesn’t get to see the glint in those golden eyes because he’s already up on his feet again. 

Demons, other…—Does the daughter have an accomplice? Or is she submitting to a master? Is the other an accomplice, or has the daughter caught another victim?

Mu Qing works on autopilot, feet taking him in a fly through the damp and sunless forest, brain wrecking itself to understand. But everytime Mu Qing blinks, the image of Feng Xin’s blood-smeared face flashes by. 

He should have shared with Feng Xin his suspicions about the daughter. He should have told him not to come back here. He should have told Feng Xin not to meddle in his business. But like a fool, Mu Qing had been swayed by the absurd belief that has been ghosting in the back of his head, deluding him to believe that perhaps Feng Xin cares.

Maybe Mu Qing is the idiot after all… He’s convinced that this is his fault—and now he has to fix it. 

He is about to make yet another turn when he eventually finds the daughter—already fully transformed into a wrath demon, the original owner of that body most likely long since gone. How did Mu Qing miss this? 

Blinding rage fills Mu Qing as he too nearly is possessed, slashing his saber like a maniac. Mad at what the monster has done, but mostly mad because of his own unacceptable failure. Ears ringing with emotions too assorted to name, eyes clouded by a burning fury. 

The piercing roars stop well before Mu Qing can contain himself again. Panting with the entire weight of his chest, face splattered with blood, mud, and whatever composes a demon being. His silky white-silver hair come undone, now a shade darker, uncomfortably sticking to his temples, the face-veil long since gone. 

Still wearing the translucent robes as Bai Xue, now trashed, dirtied, and all in the way as he is rushing to find the right way back to Feng Xin. He had run here mindlessly, not taking note of his surroundings, now cursing himself for finding himself lost.

Mu Qing feels like he’s been running in circles when he finally hears a distant murmur. He chooses to follow that sound, increasing for every step he runs closer. 

It is not only the overexertion that is ripping at Mu Qing’s lungs by now, burning in his breath, filling his guilty heart. 

Before long he recognizes the field where he left Feng Xin but he cannot see him through the large folk crowd that has gathered in the meantime. This must be a misplaced town in the wasteland between kingdoms, a road much traveled more than settled. Unskilled mortals speaking a language the other cannot understand, hesitating who should do what—most already thinking help is overdue. 

Mu Qing elbows his way through, unintentionally throwing the smaller humans to the ground in the rush, but not stopping to apologize or assist. 

This is his fault—he needs to fix this. The growing self-loath stresses at his heart. What would the heavens think if Mu Qing lets a fellow general die? What would the Crown Prince say? What would Feng Xin… 

Falling to the ground by Feng Xin’s already paleing face, Mu Qing finally pauses to calm down. Carefully he lifts the listless body into his arms—it’s still warm, he’s not too late, Mu Qing dares to breathe out.

“Feng Xin.” He tries gingerly, painstakingly. “Feng Xin?” But there is no response. 

Throughout his life, Mu Qing has always experienced things the hard way—never being enough, not rich, not proper, not mighty, not refined, not like everything that Feng Xin is. And he would be lying if he said he didn’t hate Feng Xin for that. 

But all that doesn’t matter right now. There is no room left for second guesses, greed, or shame, time running out like sand in the desert. 

Surrounded by too many mortals to carelessly reveal his celestial powers, Mu Qing takes a deep shaking breath before lowering his face. 

One, two, three—Mu Qing breathes into Feng Xin’s warm mouth, lips sealed to allow the flow of spiritual energy in—seven, eight, nine. It tastes like iron, with a lingering trace of the brothel’s nasty liquors, and something else he cannot quite name.

Mu Qing pulls back at ten, looking down at Feng Xin, head carefully cradled in his lap like it’s the most fragile thing he has ever held. 

From below, two stellar golden eyes are staring right back at him—unmistakably stunned, but moreover, the commonplace aggravation now tempered into a peculiar tenderness. 

_‘Woah, she saved him!’_ — _‘She’s your savior, kiss her!’_ — _‘He’s alive!’_ — _‘Kiss her, you fool.’_ —The crowd falls into a loud cacophony; clapping hands and cheering whistles making it impossible to distinguish every voice; jubilant to see the stranger alive. 

But between the person dressed in ripped white chiffon robes, now pooling with the blood of the again breathing man on the ground, the world is at a quiet standstill. Feng Xin looks up at Mu Qing, and Mu Qing cannot avert his eyes from Feng Xin’s locking gaze. 

“You.” Feng Xin breathes, not really meaning anything by it. 

The outside world around them turns into an even louder roar when Feng Xin heaves himself up and not caring for his aching body even less for his dirtied hands, he coils his fingers around Mu Qing’s nape, drawing his face into his. 

And there’s no spiritual power when their lips meet again, only Feng Xin awaitingly touching Mu Qing’s mouth, merely resting there until the other accepts the kiss. 

Neither actually knows how to kiss—novices both of them—colliding teeth and violated lips, but neither one cares. Desperately pulling closer, like their tongues aren’t enough tangled yet, afraid any more space between could drag them apart. 

Feng Xi finally pulls away to breathe. Their faces merely an inch apart, puffing heavily at each other. In a universe of their own. 

“Mu Qing.” Feng Xin lets out; the name said as much a wonder as an awaited wish. 

Befuddled, blinking a few slow times, Mu Qing comes to sudden senses, bolting up on his feet, eyes wide open. Feng Xin cannot help but let out a solaced laugh, glad to see his friend is still the same. 

“W-we… People.” Mu Qing stammers disorientedly; lost where to look, or put his hands, or move his feet. 

“Hah. I know.” Feng Xin lifts himself up with a groan but he cannot hold back the eased smile on his face—it really makes for an absurd look; abused, pained, dirtied, yet strangely loving. “Shall we go home then?”

  
  
  



End file.
